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Last Thursday we had a pair of doctor appointments, one at the OB group and one at High Risk OB @ Delnor Hospital.

Because of our previous visit to the OB group and their complete lack of being prepared, having read Julie’s file, and not knowing their own practice’s practices – we were prepping for a battle of words and belly bumps. Unfortunately for Julie, all of that worrying got her blood pressure up over her normal range and the MA informing her of it increased it even more.

Throughout this entire pregnancy Julie’s blood pressure has been hovering right around 120/80. Every visit was within a few points of the previous visit’s and even though we’ve had a few scares, those have always occurred after the bp reading was taken.

So when Julie was told she was 140/92 or around there for three different readings, two on the exam table and one sitting up straight in a visitor’s chair, the doctor wanted us to keep an eye on it mainly because it had never been an issue before and since we’re high risk, having twins and it’s getting towards crunch time.

What are we keeping an eye on exactly? Two things. If we were looking up a mountain we would first see Hypertension and then Preeclampsia. Thankfully Julie is showing no signs of having either besides the one episode of the high blood pressure. She doesn’t have puffy hands of feet, or “the look” of having anything similar to preeclampsia, says the High Risk doctor, but to be on the safe side he ordered her to collect her urine for 24 hours and then when she drops of her lovely pee, she gets to have some blood drawn.

Julie’s mom, Patti, is an MA herself so over the weekend she took Julies blood pressure a few more times to be sure she wasn’t actually consistent at 140/90 or anything close to that. Every reading had Julie down to where she normally is, if not lower. But regardless of our own findings, we trusted that we should follow through on the pissfest.

So our pissfest started yesterday morning. They gave her a jug of about 3/4 gallon and a handy dandy collection funnel, which is just the most seasonal and festive piss cup/pouring device I’ve ever seen. AND I’VE SEEN ALOT OF PISS COLLECTORS IN MY DAY, OH BOY.

She was instructed to toss out her first morning wee and then collect from there on out until the first morning wee of the next day, which was this morning.

Of course, in our lives, nothing comes without humor.
Keeping the funnel/hat away from our inquisitive son wasn’t the funniest part.
Storing the piss jug next to the orange juice in the fridge wasn’t the funniest part.
Watching Julie retrieve her piss jug every few minutes and the look on her face as she walked past us towards the bathroom (or as the label I put on the door says: SPECIMEN COLLECTION) wasn’t the funniest part.

No, no, no: the funniest part of the whole piss collection story is that Julie ran out of room.

Yes, Julie has a huge orange piss jug full of piss and two tiny tupperware containers full of preggopiss.

Today when she picks me up for our doctor appointment and her blood test, I’m going to make the piss jugs sit shotgun while I sit in back plugging my nose.

I love my wife, but I love laughing at her too. Every time I fall on my ass on the ice, or hit my head on a cabinet or crib, or slip on her panties lying all over the place, she laughs until she cries – well I will carry on the humor of this piss-sperience until she hits me really really hard, or the babies are born. I’m just that kind of guy.

As you can probably tell, I am not worried in the slightest that there is any noticeable protein build up in her tinkle. I believe our doctors are just being as cautious as they should be in a situation such as ours. I have a serious case of the positive thinkings going on and it wouldn’t be beneficial to Julie or the twins if I was to be a worry-wart and hounding over her pee like a koi-pond enthusiast hovering over his koi-pond, if his koi-pond were in fact nearly a gallon of bright yellow piss, in a jug, in my fridge, right next to the oj, right above my assortment of yogurts, cheap cheeses and fruit du jour.

If I know my wife’s piss, and I think I do, that jug has approximately 8 hours left before the acids in her wee wee tinkles eat through that plastic like hydrochloric acid on a cheap pair of rubber gloves.

I better get home and fortify the piss jug.

toodles.

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• Study Finds Link between Preeclampsia and Reduced Thyroid Function (nih.gov)
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Thursday afternoon I received a call at the pharmacy that my son had a bit of a fever.

He has had a slight cough that progressed from dry a week ago to a little bit wet in the coming days, but that was it, and it’s pretty normal for me during the summer to autumn change to get that dry cough at night before bed.

So I picked him up an hour later and took him home for some Elmo, fluids and some TLC. Despite a random power outage, the evening was uneventful.

Later on that night we went into his room to get a temp reading and noticed he was at 102. So we called the doctor who instructed us to alternate from tylenol to motrin every three hours to control fever and pain, keep pushing fluids and to make an appointment tomorrow.

Friday morning I woke up knowing the day would suck, as my college roommate and I share a birthday and Friday night was our 30th birthday dinner at Ditka’s in Oak Brook. Ditka’s. Ditka’s. Ditka’s. (In Chicagoland you must say his name 4 times out of respect for his holy name) So yeah, I cancelled the dinner, apologized for the inconvenience and went back to watching Elmo with the lil’ dude and had a work conference call in the meantime.

Julie had called and told me she made an appointment with a doctor for 2pm, so as lil’ dude napped and I was showering I heard the garage door opening. For my birthday present, Julie moved some meetings and took a half day to help me take lil’ dude to the Dr’s office. What a sweetheart, then again she would be staying in the car to avoid the “sickmosphere”, but still, I appreciated the gesture.

Long story short: The doctor didn’t have time or patience to answer my questions. He heard the first two words out of my mouth, which were “fever” and “cough” and whipped out a swab and shoved it up my kid’s nose without warning. My son didn’t like this guy at all and gave him a shit-fit when he went in unannounced, which I tipped him 3 dollars in the pigskin piggy bank for later (good work son).

Word to those wanting to be doctors, even if it takes an extra 30 seconds out of your visit, make a connection with the kid you’re going to be prodding, if you don’t you’ll piss off the kid AND the parents. A simple “hello” directly to the kid makes a world of difference.

He left the room as I was still asking questions and said over me “The swab takes ten minutes.” So, any parent who has ever sat in a doctor’s office exam room for any amount of time realizes those rooms are gross. I didn’t want lil’ dude climbing or eating anything so I built up a sweat calming him down and keeping him from breaking things while he had a complete meltdown. Legs kicking, wailing like a banshee, tossing his head into my chin like a classically trained MMA fighter, etc.

Twenty minutes later the nurse comes in and says that he was “positive for A” and that the doctor would be in in a minute to talk. So the doctor comes in ten minutes later and tells me, flat out “He has the swine.” I cock my head and it’s like a judo-kick to the face. “Really?”

“I’m sending a prescription for Tamiflu to your local pharmacy, give that to him and he’ll be fine in a few days.” Says mister important doctor.

“What is the alternative to the Tamiflu? I’ve heard nothing but grief from the parents who dealt with a kid on Tamiflu.” I retort.

“You could do NOTHING. If that is your choice, but, um, I would advise it, he’s pretty sick.” Says mister important doctor.

Using that type of language towards a parent is confrontational in my opinion. Suggesting that by asking about an alternative that I would do NOTHING to help heal my child of the flu is fucking offensive, and I fucking take offense to that, fucker.

Mister important doctor makes the stand-up/follow-me motion with his hands and leads us out of the room and says to have a nice day. Meanwhile, I’m still re-asking the questions I was ignored on the first time through and I’m already in the hallway being booted from his divine presence.

I get back to the van where Julie is studying and tell her what the doctor told me, thinking he would know the difference between A and swine flu, I didn’t mention the nurse’s comment that he was positive for A. She gasps and we both immediately call our respective backups when we can’t fully comprehend things, she calls her pharmacist sister, I call my compounding pharmacist father.

My dad knows what a white coat can do to a person’s judgement but understands that when you have kids your doubtful judgement of all doctors takes a back seat to “whatever is best for my kids” so he doesn’t press the issue that going to the doctor was probably not in our best interests. But he tells me that because we’ve made the effort and now things are documented that our son has “a flu, whichever it actually is” we have to follow their instructions or risk the consequences. That all makes sense, but how do you treat a flu if not with Tamiflu? “Time, kleenex, water and soap.”

Julie’s sister is appalled that our son was diagnosed as a swine flu carrier with just a swab. The doctor we saw must have a microscope in his glasses to determine a swine flu case over Influenza A without a blood test. What he told me was just not true. There is always a potential for it to be swine, but to intentionally tell a parent that is FEAR MONGERING. She tells Julie that our son is positive for A, but you simply cannot confirm a flu case is indeed H1N1 without lab tests. Not only that, but those lab tests don’t really prove anything since the flu is still the flu!

So you can probably guess how the rest of the weekend and today have been, Julie stays 6 feet away from our kid at all times and I get to deal with this complete feeling of isolation from the entire world, on my birthday!

We cancelled my party and instead had take out ribs after lil’ dude went to bed on Saturday, and then watched Revolutionary Road. The ribs were great but HOLY SHIT, that movie was complete garbage.  But hey, at least it wasn’t Elmo.

I’ve watched Elmo in Grouchland 11 times and 23 different episodes of Sesame Street since Thursday afternoon, I’m about at the end of my Elmorope. I now liken his voice to that of my 6th grade teacher who rather than saying “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…” she would say “Mundee, Toosdee, Wensdee…” – I want to strangle Elmo.

Please divine architect, make my kid feel better and be symptom free so that I may return to the land of adults and humans who speak about things other than numbers and the alphabet.

BEFORE I GO CRAZY!

Oh, and today’s word on the street? “MENTALBREAKDOWN!”

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• Definite sexes of each
• Weight
• Growth process
• Asses the risk levels for spina bifida & downs and any structural issues
• Location in the womb
• Overall health of the babies

Well, we got great answers on all fronts.

We are confirmed as having one boy and one girl. Right now Baby A is our daughter, Leah Anne, and she is 13oz. and currently beating the crap out of Baby B, our son Mason Robert, 11oz., who is currently getting his ass kicked by his older and slightly bigger sister.

Wanna’ meet em?

It looks like Leah is positioned behind Mason with his rear end right in the line of fire, and while watching the good hour long ultrasound we were treated to numerous bludgeons with feet and fists. If there was a way to monitor these kids live at, say a local watering hole, I am sure the humor would cause giggles and finger points all around the bar. I would then invent a drinking game that would require shots of expensive tequila for every head shot, cheap gin for every body shot, and perhaps a bottle of Cristal if a middle finger is raised. It would be legendary, expensive and unnecessary. Much like most of the large parties I have thrown for birthdays or bachelor party festivities (curious? there was lunch meat sliced for the explicit use of throwing it on the entertainment).

I remember slight movements when our son was in the womb, but never a full on ass kicking. This was insane.

My daughter seems to have her brother right where she wants him, and I’m pretty sure I will be unable to resist her charms by the time she pops out to meet us. I have no problem being a complete push over, and yes, she will have a pony.

So everything looks great. The placenta position has improved, the cervix length is better than great, there are no visible complications with growth or structural issues, nada. We are thankful, lucky and not taking anything for granted at this point.

My next goal is figuring out how to make my wife’s job less stressful, and I’m pretty sure the only way to do that is to go bitch slap some butch bitches or convince her it’s time to start bed rest early.